


After the War

by RamenNoodleDream



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: American Civil War, Amputee Marco Bott, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I mean Jeanbo has a bad past, M/M, Sort of sad, civil war veteran Jean Kirstein, farmer Marco Bodt, okay I take it back this turned out sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:46:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamenNoodleDream/pseuds/RamenNoodleDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1865, and the war has finally ended. Many people have died, and the tension is still thick in the air. Jean Kirstein is coming home from fighting in a long war, but he still carries the weight of what he did to survive on his shoulders. The horrors of the war still haunt him, but he is just greatful to be alive. With his mental scars still fresh in him, he meets Marco Bodt, who has some scars of his own. In this poor farmer, Jean finds the cure he had been looking for for the longest time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spirithorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirithorse/gifts).



_"We outnumber the south, we shouldn't worry."_

 

_"So many of us have fallen already, what do we do?!"_

 

_"We won't make it out alive. We should just give up now..."_

 

_"No, we mustn't give up. We can't quit until the enemy surrenders."_

 

_"General Lee surrendered to the union today! Men, pack it up, we're all going home!"_

 

* * *

 Out of everything, hearing 'we're going home' was no doubt the best thing Jean had heard during his service. Even though the Union had won, the cost at which it came was devastating. But, in the famous words of his bunkmate Reiner, "Atleast we sent those Confederate bastards running home with their tails between their legs!"

 

 It was little moments like that that kept Jean going. If he wasn't worried to death over his own life and losing the war, he was worried to death over his family's life and losing them. As Jean was the only male in the Kirstein household, he was the one to carry the workload. He had grown accustomed to being leaned upon at a young age, after his father had died due to an infection. Because he was the only one there to protect his young sister and his mother, he tried avoiding the war at all costs. But, when the draft came, there was no more running. The goodbye to his family was hard, but not as hard as coming back home to learn his mother had died during his absence, and his sister had married soon afterwards. She had to do something to stay protected; she needed to do something to stay alive. She had no choice but to leave without word.

 

Jean and his sister still wrote to each other every time the chance came.

 

 As for Jean, he decided it was time to move on from the city he had called his home for the first twenty one years of his life. The bustling, new fast paced way of the city was too much for his taste; he decided that it was high time to give himself a break from working and moving around so much. He deserved some type of rest.

 

 But when he was leaving, Jean never imagined himself moving to get away from work just to go back to working. Of course, Jean decided to stay up north, moving to a small town on the outskirts of the city. One of those places where everyone knew everyone. Jean, still a young, naïve and sheltered city boy, figured finding some easy work just to get by wouldn't be too hard. He just needed some type of job to keep himself afloat; the forty bucks his sister gifted to him wasn't going to last forever. But, he soon found out when he got to his new home that to be a shoe in for a job here, you had to have connections. Family members hired family, friends hired friends; it was risky hiring a new face. Jean was still hustling to stay alive, something he was familiar with. He did odd jobs, anything that would bring in some kind of cash. He struggled like this until one day, someone who was surely an angel came down and saved him.

 

 On the day he met him, Jean was sweeping the porch to the town's store. The kind old man had taken pity on Jean and offered him small things his grandsons didn't do. It was here he overheard a conversation between the old man and a customer about 'Ol' Bodt's boy'. Apparently, this guy, Marco was his name, was a disabled farmer who worked hard to keep his late father's farm running. He didn't have any permanent help, being too poor to pay for anyone. But some believe he was just too stubborn and wanted to prove that he was still able to do what every other man could do. Jean reasoned what his losses would be if he went up to Bodt's farm and asked to help out somehow. Maybe Jean was only doing it for the possibility he'd have an extra room he'd rent out, or maybe he was doing it because he wanted to help out a hard working guy with no family who only wanted to survive. People in the same boat had to help each other out, after all.

 

 Jean wasn't nervous at all as he knocked on the door to the farmhouse, fixing his hair which he had tidied up in order to impress the other man. As far as Jean knew, this guy could be someone way older than him or way younger, someone actually of great power wanting to have an honest life or someone as poor as him. Might as well be prepared and dressed to impress. He thought he had prepared himself to handle anything this guy threw at him, but it seems his preparing was in vain for when the door opened, Jean froze right on the spot. There before him stood a man with a tan he no doubt earned from working outside for so long. His face was full of freckles, along with his arms... And then Jean found out what Marco's disability was; Marco didn't have arms full of freckles, but just an arm full of them. It was rare to see someone with an amputated anything alive, which was the main thing that got Jean. He locked eyes with the other man, stuttering out his greeting. Still, he was greeted with the warmest smile he had ever received.

 

"Afternoon, stranger." Marco laughed out. "Is there something I could help you with?" He asked.

 

"Y-yes I... I uh... I-I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound rude. I was just... Surprised is all." 

 

 "The arm gets everyone, don't worry. I'm used to it, really." This guy still had that smile on his face, but Jean couldn't tell if it was genuine or just an act to mask his anger. For the first time in his life, Jean was having trouble reading somebody.

 

 "Oh, no, it's not the arm! I've never seen someone missing an arm or something looking in such good health as you do. I've seen people with more than an arm cut off, that part doesn't bother me. I'm amazed, more than surprised really." Jean said, regaining his composure and standing straight once again.

 

 "You have? You must be the soldier boy everyone has been talking about! Where are my manners? Do come in, sir." He said, ushering him in. This guy barely knew Jean, and he was already treating him with such hospitality. And there Jean was, about to beg him for a bed to sleep in and food to eat. Selflessness and survival don't usually mix well.

 

 What followed next was a two hour or so conversation over tea and some left over biscuits from that morning about life back from the war for Jean and life on the farm for Marco. Marco mentioned he had been without an arm for a few years now, having lost it when his parents were still around. The way Marco made it out to sound, he had been pretty young. He described his still being alive and not dead due to infection as nothing more than a miracle. After hearing what Marco would tell him about himself, Jean felt awful for talking next. He chose not to talk to in depth about his time in the war, deciding it best to leave those memories pushed away for now. Where else could he start but the part of him coming home to nothing, leaving home with nothing and needing to work for Marco to earn something? To his surprise, Marco didn't turn him away or scold him for asking; instead, he accepted Jean's offer to help. 

 

 "I usually don't accept help, but hearing what you're going through... I can't find it in my heart to turn you away. Besides," he started, "I can't turn away a man who has so graciously fought for the Union. I can't offer much pay, but I can offer you a place to sleep if you'd like."

 

 "That's great!" Jean bursted out, a wide smile on his face. He recollected himself, clearing his throat as a soft tint of pink arose on his cheeks. "I mean, I'd very much like that. Thank you, Mr.-"

 

"Marco." he said, extending his arm out to shake Jean's hand. "You can call me Marco."

 

"Jean." Jean said as he accepted Marco's hand. 

 

And with that, Jean sealed himself a place to call home.

 

* * *

  It was close to a year since Jean had started working for Marco, and he had to admit, he didn't want his life any other way. Jean's room was right next to Marco's, and it was definitely a step up from the cheap motel room that had been eating up what little money he had left. Even with the cushy benefits, the work that came along with them wasn't as ideal. Jean didn't mind it all too much, though. He was glad to trade in his musket for a plow, the drinking songs for the birds songs, the cloudy air for the fresh air; he was finally freed from the place where life was lost daily and rewarded a place where life grew in abundance. The best part of his reward, though, had to be Marco. From day one, this guy had been the sweetest and most generous man he had ever met. Marco always served Jean first at dinner, gave up most of his blankets on cold nights to the blond, always tried to give Jean extra breaks during the day (Jean tried to refuse, but just as those men had said, Marco was stubborn), and tried to give Jean less work (which Jean never let happen; Marco may be stubborn, but Jean was probably more so than him). Marco was strong, smart, sweet and determined, not to mention pretty good looking on the outside, too. Jean didn't care if it was wrong or how badly it went against current beliefs; he wanted this man with him for as long as possible.

 

 Jean tried to work as hard as Marco, trying to thank him, impress him, and do what he signed up to do in the first place all at the same time, but he always seemed distracted. This was due to him getting caught up on the past, but today it seemed much worse. Jean had been tossing and turning all night, something which wasn't too unusual. He only did this when he became fixated on something that happened during the war. While he tried hard to suppress the terrors he experienced, he couldn't run from them. That morning, he felt groggier than usual. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, something that was clearly all over his face. Per the norm, Marco busied himself with cooking breakfast. Jean hurried over to him, trying to shoo him away from the stove as to help pull out a pan of steaming hot biscuitst. 

 

"You're going to burn the house down one day." Jean said after setting the pan down, laying the cloth protecting his hands beside it. 

 

Marco laughed, shaking his head. "I've managed to survive about eight years on my own, I don't think you being here will change that."

 

 Jean rolled his eyes as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. He tried to keep Marco from seeing how tired and utterly exhausted, both mentally and physically, he was but there no hiding it. You couldn't hide anything from Marco Bodt.

 

 "Long night again?" Marco asked, laying his hand on Jean's shoulder. While Jean's recurring nightmares weren't a secret between the two, he tried to keep them a secret. He was sure Marco had much better things to worry about than some veteran slowly slipping into madness. 

 

"It was nothing too bad..." Jean trailed off, letting his eyes settle on Marco.

 

"Jean, you look like it was _very_ bad." Marco said, concern present in those soft, brown eyes of his.

 

"I'm fine." Jean said.

 

"Jean." Marco persisted.

 

 "I said I'm  _fine."_ Jean firmly said, narrowing his eyes towards the other. He knew that Marco meant well, but Jean just didn't want to talk about it. He never did.

 

 Marco bit his lip and played with the hem of his shirt for a moment before nodding. "I'm sorry." What followed next was something Jean hated; silence. Finally, it was broken by the freckled man. "Hey, I'm planning on heading into town today, and, as a thank you for everything you've been doing, I planned to pick you up a surprise. An apple pie surprise, perhaps?" He said, grabbing their plates, which were taken by Jean. 

 

 As he separated the plates and placed a couple of biscuits on each, Jean gave a soft chuckle. "An apple pie surprise? My, I have no idea what it could be. But you really don't have to-"

 

 "I want to." Marco said, handing him the marmalade. "Plus, it's also a way for me to tell you you're going to be doing almost all the chores for today while I'm out. You can't get mad at someone who told you that knowing that they're getting you a pie, right?"

 

 "I guess not." Jean sighed dramatically, finishing up spreading the preserve on Marco's food. He walked them to the table and took his place with the other sitting across from him. "Why didn't you wake me up to help you today?"

 

 "When I first came into your room, you looked so scared while asleep. With it being so early, along with you coming from whatever nightmare you had, I knew you wouldn't be ready to face the day. On my second try, you looked so peaceful..." He trailed off. "You needed your sleep. I handled myself well without you, anyways."

 

 "You were going to burn your other arm off if I hadn't came when I did." Jean said around a mouthful of biscuit. "But still, you'd find some way to bring in the entire harvest." 

 

"You better believe it." Marco smirked, taking a bite from his own food. 

 

* * *

 After breakfast, Marco took his leave into town. He brought the weekly shipments of eggs, milk, and the fruits and vegetables that the stores had ordered. Giving Jean one last wave, Marco set out on foot. While he could manage to ride a horse, it was extremely difficult to, and Marco didn't want to risk falling over again. Even though it would've been faster if Jean had gone seeing as he could ride a horse with no problem, Marco insisted he stay home to save him from getting stressed out even more. In the end, Jean was thankful for that decision. 

 

Until he had to clean out the barn.

 

 Needless to say, after he finished, he ran to the water pump in an attempt to wash himself. Atleast Marco didn't have to suffer through that hell. He always made it seem so easy; if Marco could single handedly, literally, haul out piles of hay and carry in atleast two bags of feed at a time in to that madhouse, surely Jean could do it  _without_ complaining. Well, he did it, cleaning and feeding and all, but he couldn't do the no complaining part. Especially when their only golden-maned horse (affectionately named 'Jean' by Marco) kept snorting and neighing every time he got near; Jean couldn't be blamed for whining.

 

 Cows, check. Running from cows in fear, check. Pigs, check. Almost falling into the pigs pen, check. Chickens, check. Being ran off by the biggest rooster they have (affectionately named 'Marco' by Jean), check. Now to tackle tending to the fields. Atleast there wasn't any fear of crazy animals trying to kill him out here. Well, a less probable chance of it.

 

 Jean really didn't have much to do in this department seeing as they already pulled in what was ready just a few days before and replanted what needed to be. He only had to water, pull a few weeds, other small glamorous tasks like that. The good news was that he made it out all in one piece. Jean's list of accomplishments was just growing longer and longer each day.

 

 Speaking of one of his self considered accomplishments, Marco came strolling up the path to the farm almost an hour after Jean had finished the chores. Marco looked around, seemingly inspecting everything Jean had done. Meeting him halfway from the door, Jean took a good bit of the bags Marco had been carrying.

 

"You did everything?" Marco asked as they got inside.

 

 "Of course. Or, atleast I think so. I tried cleaning the house but..." Jean rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm no maid. I hadn't the slightest clue what I was doing." He laughed weakly.

 

 Marco waved him off, starting to put what he had bought up, with Jean's help of course. "Don't worry. I'll do one sweep of the farm, pick anything major up around this old shack, and you," he turned on his heels, handing him a bag with a few ears of corn in it. "Start on dinner for us." Jean raised an eyebrow at him, to which Marco responded with his trademark smile. "We had a few left over today. We get to enjoy the fruits of our labor tonight, Mr. Kirstein!" He said as he turned to walk out of the house.

 

 "Vegetables of our labor!" Jean called after him, laughing at his terrible joke. Atleast it made Marco laugh. God, Marco had such a beautiful laugh. Jean shook his head, a small smile staying on his lips as he started preparing everything. For a moment, Jean forgot what was bothering him, forgot all that was ailing him. Just for a moment. 

 

 After their dinner of corn, smoked beef, and some of the 'surprise' apple pie, it was safe to say the two had gained back every ounce they lost that day. After following their daily routine of cleaning the dishes and wiping the table, the two got ready for bed. Marco was exhausted as always, and Jean was incredibly drained, as always. Before the two parted ways to their rooms, Marco stopped Jean.

 

 "Are you sure everything is alright? I don't want you to go through whatever you went through last night again." He said, placing his hand onto Jean's shoulder.

 

 Slipping his eyes shut as he relaxed under the gentle touch, Jean nodded. "I'm sure everything is fine. Thank you, Marco." 'Thank you for everything' was what stayed inside of Jean. 

 

 They lingered in the hall like this for sometime before saying their good nights, retreating into their rooms. Jean gently closed the door, and took a breath to calm himself down. Maybe it was just Marco, maybe it was the fact he wasn't alright, or maybe it was the fact he would most likely have a repeat of last night. Whatever it was, he pushed it away and changed. He silently slipped into bed, looking up at the ceiling for the longest time. He didn't know when it happened, but he soon slipped into a state of slumber.

 

* * *

  It was a normal day at the camp. Everyone tried to stay high in spirits by telling jokes or singing a drinking song, or playing a game of cards. Jean had the duty of cleaning the guns again. He looked around the camp, but... It was silent. He knew there needed to be noise, but it was like he had gone deaf. The silence rang in his ears as he looked upon his camp. The others paid him no mind as they continued with their activities, not a care in the world; maybe that's why no one noticed the group of southern soldiers storming up to their camp.

 

 It was still silent as the Confederates attacked. Jean kept trying to yell out, to do something, but he was glued to his seat. His voice was muffled as he saw the sheer terror on his fellow soldiers face as the enemy continued with the onslaught. Suddenly, a Confederate soldier appeared in front of him and held a gun between Jean's eyes. 

 

_Bang_.

 

 Jean woke up with a yelp, sitting straight up in the bed. He was in a cold sweat as the gunshot rang through out his mind. He placed his hands onto his head as he breathed heavily, visibly shaking from his nightmare. How could he just sit there and do nothing? How could he allow that to happen? Why didn't he- 

 

"Jean?" 

 

 Jean was snapped from his racing thoughts to see Marco peeking in at him, cracking the door slightly. Marco had no candle, so Jean had to rely on the moonlight from the window to shed light on him. As he neared him, he could see the look of pure worry and concern on Marco's face. No doubt, Marco heard Jean's yelp. Dammit, Kirstein, now you have him worried over nothing. 

 

"I'm fine... I'm fine." Jean panted out, laying back down with a huff.

 

 Marco came over to his beside after sliding the window open with no difficulty. "You said that this morning. You are  _not_ fine. Please," he said as he kneeled down to take his friend's hand into his own. "Tell me what happened."

 

 Jean managed to stay strong through out this whole ordeal, but when he felt Marco's hand on his own, he broke down. He let out a sob, which Marco responded with by pulling him into a hug with the best of his abilities. Jean accepted it, working with him in order to be wrapped up in his arm. Jean embraced him tightly, Marco matching his grip. They stayed like this for a while, and when Jean finally managed to say something, it came out rushed and strangled.

 

"I-I can't... I can't escape it. It was my fault." Marco hushed him as he said this. "It was my fault, Marco."

 

 "The war wasn't your fault, Jean." He said softly. "The Union's losses weren't your fault. You did everything, you did everything you could. Please, stop blaming yourself for the past."

 

 Jean felt a little more at ease with his words but still continued. "If I was here... If I had been here instead of fighting in that war... I could've kept my mother alive. I let everyone around me die, Marco!" He cried out. There was a beat of silence before Jean spoke again, calmer this time. "My sister stopped writing to me..."

 

Marco bit his lip, holding the other closer. "Oh, Jean... I'm-"

 

 "What happened to you? Why are you... How are you still so cheery after what happened to you?" Jean said suddenly, pulling back to look into the other's eyes.

 

 Marco was taken back a little by Jean's question. "When I was younger, about thirteen or so, my arm got an infection. It was my fault; I fell off a horse while coming back from town due to my own stupidity. We tried everything to treat it, but..." He shook his head. "The doctor didn't know what else to do. My mother and father did everything they could think of, but our options were limited. Soon, amputation was offered and... Well, the rest is history." He weakly laughed out. "The fact that I'm alive is a miracle. Now I work everyday to try and make my gift meaningful."

 

 Jean listened to the other, tears still streaming down his face. Infection took his father, and it almost took his Marco. "My father died because of an untreated wound. We barely had enough money to provide for the family, so there was no way we could pay for doctor visits... Medicine... Amputation..." Jean trailed off, wiping at his eyes. "My dad knew that."

 

"I'm so sor-"

 

 "I don't need your apologies." Jean said flattly. "I have no one. My sister won't answer me, my mother died from worry that I caused, my father died from infection. I don't have anyone."

 

 "If it means anything, you'll always have me. I'll be here for as long as you need me." Marco gave Jean smile that instantly made his heart race. "My father died from over working himself, trying to pay off the debts that I caused. My mother, broken hearted, she-- rest her soul." Marco said softly. "I know how it feels to feel alone, to feel worthless, to feel helpless. I know how it feels to think you have something to prove. But let me tell you, Mr. Kirstein, you're doing just fine to me." He regained his smile. "People in the same boat have to help each other out, right?"

 

Jean gave him a weak smile, giving him one last tight embrace. "Stay..." He whispered.

 

"Anything for you, Jean."

 

 The rest of the night, Jean spent it tangled with Marco. They held each other close, almost as if they would lose each other if their grip softened for even a second. Jean never wanted to leave this spot if Marco would stay like this with him forever. He didn't care if this was wrong, or if Marco was just being his kind self and indulging Jean. Whatever this was, it was what Jean had been yearning for.

 

 In this moment, Jean decided to stop trying to run from his past. He was going to stop worrying over the past and staying in the war and, instead, love the future and stay in the now with Marco. 

 

 That would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up sadder than I had intended. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed it, spirithorse! Please check out their tumblr: http://eachainn.tumblr.com . Anyways, I've never written anything like this before, so I really hope it was passable. I think it turned out pretty alright ^^. 
> 
> Side notes: While I know amputees had an extremely low chance of survival back then, I thought it would be nice to throw in that story element. I don't really have an excuse for this. And, I couldn't exactly figure out a way to cause Marco to have the infection without it seeming too over the top, so I just made him have a horse riding accident.
> 
> I hit alot of heavy stuff in this fic, and I'm afraid I didn't represent it well enough. If you find anything offensive here or find I didn't tackle a subject right, please tell me! (Either via comments here or on my own tumblr (kdlynx)). 
> 
> If there are any wrong facts, also let me know! I want this to be as historically accurate as possible while also being as pleasing as possible. 
> 
> Also, since I'm Hamilton trash, I referenced a few of the songs from it. Wrong era, wrong war, but I got inspiration from it and couldn't help myself. Forgive me, I have sinned even more.
> 
> That should do it for notes! I wish you all a merry Christmas! And thank you to spirithorse for the wonderful prompt.


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